A Dark Lure

by Loreth Anne White

  It appeared he’d one day repaid them by abusing and killing them.

  Shit. Cole scrubbed his fingers through his damp hair. This was heavy stuff. He’d been on tour in Sierra Leone when all this had broken. George had later been tried, convicted, and then found hanged in his cell just over three years ago.

  Cole clicked open a photo of the killer.

  A striking man. Gaunt, tall. Wild dark curls the color of ink, amber eyes offset by a dusky complexion. Cole opened another image—that of George’s mother.

  It was a photo supplied by her kin in California. Her remains had been formally linked to her California family through DNA. This photo had been taken shortly before Jenny Burch had renamed herself Nightingale and left on a walkabout, never to return. Her family had eventually presumed her dead, and stopped looking.

  Cole could see where Sebastian George got his looks. Jenny Burch had been a stunner—angular features, wide amber eyes, and thick, pin-straight hair the blue-black color of a raven’s feathers.

  He clicked open a photo of Sebastian George’s father. It showed Peter George as a big, bold-looking man with dusky skin, liquid black eyes, and flared cheekbones.

  Scrolling further down the search results, Cole found a page with photos of the eight victims. One after the other he clicked them open until he reached the thumbnail of the last one. The one who got away. He opened the link.

  A face filled his screen.

  Cole caught his breath. Ice speared through his veins. Slowly, numbly, he stared.

  It was her.

  Different, but absolutely her. Not a question in his mind.

  Sarah Baker was Olivia West.

  Cole hurriedly hit another link—this one about the extensive trial and DNA evidence used to convict Sebastian George. But as it opened, his monitor went black.

  His battery was dead.

  Mac Yakima replaced the phone receiver on his desk as Martinello appeared in the doorway.

  “That was Raffey,” he said, looking up. “He’s still with the coroner. Apparently our vic recently had left knee arthoplasty—knee replacement surgery. We’ve got the identifying number on the orthopedic device.”

  She gave a fist pump. “Finally, something. And”—she wiggled the pieces of paper in her hand—“we’ve got the probable-cause warrant to search Burton’s residence and a warrant to track his cell.” She plunked the warrants on his desk.

  Mac scanned them. “Day execution for Burton’s residence. We can get in there with a full team first thing in the a.m. And we can get going right away for a trace on his phone.” He stood, grabbed his jacket. “I’m starved. Chinese or Italian?”

  “Turkish.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a new place off Main. It’s Turkish. I’m sick of Chinese and Italian.”

  They exited the building, the energy between them palpable. They had the scent of their quarry. The hunt was on.

  CHAPTER 14

  Tori showered before her dad and was snugged back into her down jacket, finally toasty but ravenous after being out on the water and the excitement of catching her first trout. They were going to head up to the lodge for the seven o’clock dinner, but it wasn’t time yet.

  She waited until she heard the water go on in the bathroom before lifting the mattress and extracting her hidden e-reader. She stuffed it down the front of her jacket and pulled on a woolly hat. Outside, twilight lingered and the wind was cold. She walked down to the dock, where a bench in a gazebo overlooked the water. Small solar lights on stalks that had been sunk into the lawn around the gazebo were starting to glow. It was protected from the wind down here. She could read in peace for a while.

  She settled onto the bench, switched her Kindle on. The page where she’d last left off filled the small screen. Coyotes called in the hills as she started reading in the gloam. But it was okay, the e-reader was backlit.

  She made him think the baby was his.

  It didn’t stop him from raping her, but he did stop hurting her so badly, and she realized that he had an ego, a weak spot—he wanted to see “his” baby grow. He was interested in his own likeness. Her pregnancy was something he valued, which meant she had a tool.

  She began to think he might even allow her to live. At least until the baby was born. It fueled her hope, her belief she would make it out.

  But one dark morning, when everything seemed frozen in deep winter silence, this grown man came into her shed and told her that his father had never permitted him to shoot a pregnant doe. He’d always wanted to hunt and kill a pregnant doe, he said. To field dress it, to stick the knife in, rip into the belly, and split it, to see the baby hoofs come out of the sack.

  She knew then, on some subterranean level, why he’d stopped hurting her, and why he was letting her baby grow . . .

  An owl hooted softly.

  Tori glanced up.

  Dry leaves rustled over the lawn. Reeds whispered. It was getting duskier and spooky out, things taking strange shapes. She leaned closer in the fading light. But as she recommenced reading, a man materialized on the bank with a fly rod. She started in shock.

  He stopped along the water just below her and cast his rod, spooling out long swirls of line. He wore waders and a fishing vest over his jacket. A ball cap hid his face.

  As if sensing her gaze, he glanced up.

  Tori tensed.

  The memory of the words she’d read earlier shimmered into her mind.

  He cast again and was letting his fly drift when he became aware of a presence. A sensation of being watched . . . Slowly, he shifted his gaze over his shoulder. A man stood in water about fifty yards down from him. He’d not made a sound in his approach. It was as if he’d simply materialized from the fabric of the forest . . .

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said, moving a little closer to the gazebo along the edge of the water. Tori still couldn’t see his face, his eyes.

  “Is that a good read?” He nodded to the e-reader clutched in her hand.

  “Uh . . . yeah.” She glanced up toward their cabin. It was just out of sight from the gazebo. A wolf howled in the mountains. It gave her goose bumps. She got up to go, but the man turned his back on her, ignoring her as he played out his line. She watched for a moment. He was an even better caster than Olivia. It was like a ballet. So beautiful, the way the wet line arced and droplets sprayed like little diamonds in the dusk.

  Intrigue edged away her caution. Tori climbed down the small steps of the gazebo and inched closer to the water, e-reader clutched in her hand. The man moved slightly away from her, going farther along the bank, closer to the trees as he recast his line. He waited and watched his fly out on the surface, his hands still. An owl hooted softly again.

  “I saw you out in the boat, catching a fish,” he said. “I was in my pontoon, a little farther down the lake. At least, I think it was you guys in the boat.”

  “Olivia, our guide, caught the fish. I just brought it in.”

  “Well, bringing it in is just as challenging as getting it on a hook.”

  He raised his rod, and the line went taut. The end of the rod bent sharply. Her heart started to patter. She moved closer, excitement trilling through her as she recalled the sensation of catching her own. A huge trout leaped free of the water and smacked with a loud crack onto the surface.

  “It’s a big one!” she said. “A fighter.”

  He didn’t say a word as he played it. He let it run, dive down deep, allowed it to think it was safe. Until finally it was exhausted and he brought it in, flopping weakly.

  “Just like that,” she murmured, incredulous. “You just put the fly out there and you got one, bam, right away.”

  “It’s the time of day that helps.” He pointed to the water. “See those bugs hovering low, just above the surface? The way the bats are going crazy, darting
to get them?”

  Tori blinked into the gloaming. She hadn’t realized they were bats. Tiny. Like darting swallows.

  “Action like that—it also means there’s cold coming. Big weather.”

  He reached into his pocket and came out with a silvery tool. He smashed the big trout on its head.

  Shock rippled through Tori as the fish went still. “You killed it,” she said softly.

  “Yup. Dinner.” He stuck his fingers into the gills and lifted it out of the water. “A man’s gotta eat.”

  She swallowed.

  “So, was that your dad in the boat with you and the guide, Olivia?” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you come up here often to fish? Do you use the same guide? You know her well?” He watched her intently as he spoke, but she couldn’t really see his features in the shadows, nor his eyes, which were hidden below the bill of his ball cap.

  Nerves whispered through her. It was rather dark all of a sudden. She glanced up to the cabin. She was out of sight down here.

  “I’ve been wondering whether to hire her,” he offered in way of explanation for his questions.

  “No,” Tori said. “This is the first time we’ve come here, and the first time we’ve been out with Olivia. My mom died in April, and my dad just retired, so he brought me here.” The words just came out of her mouth. “I also burned a kid’s books at school.”

  Something seemed to quicken through him.

  “I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”

  Emotion surged into her eyes. She averted her gaze. Stupid tears were always so close to the surface whenever she thought of her mother.

  “Don’t let it worry you,” he said gently, his voice a smooth, low, and comforting sound. “I get it—that need to hurt something when you yourself are hurt.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Say, why don’t you come around to the campsite tomorrow and find me and my wife. I’m going to smoke half this trout—you ever tasted smoked trout?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re in for a treat then. If you come visit.” He smiled slowly, his teeth glinting in the fading light. He bent down to put his fish in a creel that she only just noticed was there. “What did your father do, then? Before he retired?” he said, securing the lid of the creel.

  “He was a cop.”

  His head ticked up. “A Mountie? Or another force?”

  “Mountie. In Vancouver. He was with homicide. Before that he was stationed in Fort Tapley, where I was born. And before that he was the staff sergeant up at Watt Lake.”

  Something shifted in the air. His gaze seemed to pin hers. Wind gusted.

  A chill suddenly crawled over her skin.

  “Tori!”

  She jumped. Her dad. Quickly she stuffed her e-reader down the front of her jacket.

  “Where are you, Tori?!” He loomed around the side of the gazebo and came down the bank, breathing hard. “Jesus, Tori, you scared me . . . what in the hell are you doing down here?”

  “I was watching the man fish.”

  “What man?”

  She turned. There was no one there. Just shadows, branches swaying in the wind, ripples along the water where he’d stood. Her father peered into the shadows.

  A clang, clang, clang, clang sounded. A duck fluttered and a loon called in a haunting warble. Leaves clattered down the bank in a gust of wind.

  He grabbed her arm. “Come. That’s the dinner bell. Guess they still do it cowboy style out here.”

  He marched her up the bank, his fingers digging into her arm.

  “Ouch.” She jerked against his grip. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Who was the man down there?” he demanded, his voice rough.

  “I don’t know. Just a fisherman. From the campsite.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks. “Did you talk to him?”

  She said nothing.

  “What did he say to you, Tori?”

  “Nothing. He saw me catch a fish earlier. He asked about you and Olivia.”

  He tensed. She felt a dark, weird energy rolling off him in waves. The little solar lights glinted on his face, and she saw he was sweating. Something was wrong. Her father seemed afraid, panicky.

  “You didn’t give him your name or anything, did you?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t dare go near him again, you hear me? You don’t go near anyone out here.”

  “Why?”

  “Just don’t.”

  “I don’t know what your problem is! He seemed like a nice guy.”

  “Lures appear nice to fish, Tori. And look what happens to the fish. We don’t know the people up here. This place is isolated. There are woods around us for miles. Hunters with guns. Anything could happen.”

  “You’re just saying that because you’re a cop, because you always think everyone is up to something nefarious, and it makes me sick!”

  “That’s because I’ve seen what people are capable of. You need to be more aware. Horrible, horrible things can happen to very good people.”

  She thought of the poor woman in the shed in her mother’s book. But that was just a story. Fiction. Yet her mother also ripped stuff straight from headlines—that was what the reviews always said. That dark, cold thing crawling at the edges of her mind came a little closer.

  “Come.” He marshaled her along the path toward the lodge where the lights glowed yellow and warm into the darkness. But her father took only two steps before he gasped and bent over, clutching his temple.

  “Dad? What’s wrong?!”

  He opened his mouth, as if trying to make words. But nothing came out.

  Tori clamped her hand over his arm. “Daddy, please, tell me what’s going on.”

  He waved his hand, trying to get his tongue around words. “I . . . it’s fine.” His words came out breathless. “It’s nothing, honey, it’s . . . okay.” He stood slowly up, swayed a little, and caught onto her shoulder for balance. Her great big dad leaned heavily on her for support. “I . . . I’m fine. Just . . . really tired.”

  He forced a smile and took several deep breaths, then tried to walk again. But she grabbed his sleeve and held him back.

  “Are you sick?” she demanded.

  He looked down at her for several long beats. An owl’s whoo whoo whoooo sounded in the trees above them.

  “Tori, love.” He reached down and pushed a strand of long hair out of her face. “Everything’s going to be okay. Just—”

  “I heard you talking to Aunt Louise on the phone,” she snapped. “I heard you say that you were too young to retire, and she said something could go wrong any day now, and that I’d have to go and live with them back east. Coming to this ranch wasn’t about what I did at school, was it? It’s about you being ill and needing to spend time with me. Are you going to die? Are you going to leave me, too?”

  He cursed softly and glanced up toward the lights of the lodge, as if they offered escape from a conversation he wasn’t prepared to have, if he could just get there, but he was trapped here with her in the dark.

  “Yes,” he said finally. “I am sick.”

  Her lip started to wobble. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have a kind of cancer.”

  “What kind?”

  He reached for her hand and led her over to a bench along the side of the path. Seating himself, he drew her closer, looked into her eyes. In the pale glow of the solar lanterns his eyes were dark holes, and his face was drawn.

  Tori could scent fire smoke on the breeze. She focused on the smell, on the sounds of dry things crackling in the dead leaves under the trees. She wanted to run away, to not hear the horrible truth.

  “I was diagnosed in January last year with what they call melanoma.” His voice was low, quiet. He sounded defeated. “
It starts out as a small mole on your body, but it can metastasize and spread cancer very quickly to other parts of your body if you don’t catch it in time.”

  Her gaze fixed on him, she said, “Did it spread?”

  Footfalls sounded down the path. Someone was coming. Tori’s heart started to race.

  “Gage? Is that you?” Olivia’s voice reached them as she came up the path from the staff cabins.

  Tori gripped his hands iron tight, her body vibrating. “Tell me,” she hissed. Squeezing his fingers. Desperate. “Tell me quickly before she gets here.”

  “It had already spread when they found it. To my lymph nodes. Other places. It had moved into my brain. I have a tumor there.”

  “What does that mean? Can they take it out?”

  Olivia was coming closer along the path.

  “Yes,” her dad said quickly. “It’s going to be fine, but let’s talk about it some more after dinner, okay?”

  “You’re lying. Because if they can fix it, why would I have to go live with Aunt Lou?”

  Olivia emerged from the shadows. “Gage, Tori, is that you guys?”

  “Later, okay?” he whispered. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  Tori yanked away and stormed up toward the lodge.

  “Tori!” he called after her.

  She clenched her fists and jaw and just kept marching up the path.

  “Hey, Tori,” Olivia said.

  She bumped aggressively into Olivia, pushing past her.

  “Tori!” Gage struggled to his feet as Olivia appeared through the trees.

  Olivia hurried forward. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I was just a bit out of breath. Happens sometimes.”

  “I just saw Tori tearing up the path,” she said.

  He drew his hand down hard over his mouth, emotion hot in his eyes. He once felt so much in command, powerful. A good cop. A good provider and protector of his family. He’d felt blessed. Now he was unraveling like a ragged ball of twine. Inside he felt like the scared, small Alberta farm boy he once was, a lifetime—fifty-six years ago. All those years spent clawing himself out of the prairies, becoming a police officer, a top detective, working homicide, running a detachment, and it came down to this? The End. How did one deal with The End when you could see it coming like a freight train?